


Wordsworth

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Sussex Retirement [27]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: Faced with a grumpy Holmes, Watson decides to go for a stroll in their garden.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Sussex Retirement [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/290954
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Wordsworth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DW's Watson's Woes Daffodil Challenge

Sherlock Holmes was off colour, not ill as such, but definitely ailing. I could not spot any discernible cause, but I had insisted he take things easily and on no account venture outside. Although it was now March, the wind was still raw, and if he forgot the time, which was a distinct possibility once he began fussing around his hives, there was a good chance he would get a chill.

As can be imagined, he was not taking his enforced idleness well. He was short-tempered and I wasn’t sure whether this was a sign of oncoming illness, or simply frustration because he was unable to be as active as he would like. When Mrs Maiden mentioned that we had a problem with mice, he snapped at her and said, “Do something about it then, woman,” which was most unusual of him, for his replies might at times be somewhat cold, but he rarely used a heated tone with her.

I hastened to apologise to our housekeeper, who replied, “Don’t worry about it, Dr Watson, I do understand. And I shall indeed do as Mr Holmes has instructed.”

By the afternoon my patience, too, was wearing thin, and I decided to go for a brief stroll round our garden. It was either that or throwing my book at Holmes, which would no doubt lead to something being broken, and would therefore add to Mrs Maiden’s chores, which I preferred not to do.

The daffodils had begun to bloom a few days before, and now there were large clumps dotted around the garden. On impulse I decided to cut some so we could have a vase full in our sitting room, which would add a much-needed touch of colour. I took my scissors out of my coat pocket and bent to cut some blooms. It was not long before my back began to ache with bending down, and I didn’t dare risk kneeling in case I could not get back up again, so I settled on picking a small bunch of flowers, rather than the large bunch I had initially envisaged.

Clutching the daffodils, and limping quite noticeably, I returned indoors. Holmes, of course, noted my rather laboured progress, but mercifully did not comment. I placed the flowers in the vase and stood back to admire them.

“Wordsworth!” Holmes said.

“What, the poet?” I replied, somewhat surprised.

“No, the cat.”

I look at Holmes in alarm. Had he got a fever, which I had failed to notice, and this was making him delirious?

Holmes gave me a pitying look, sighed and said, “Of course I meant the poet! We must have a book of his poems somewhere.”

I retrieved the poetry book and passed it to Holmes. He ran his finger down the contents before stopping, not, as I expected, at _I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud_ , but at another.

“Do you remember when we were invited to lunch with Major Gale?” he asked.

“Yes. You stopped to look at a watercolour and he hurried you on,” I replied.

“I knew it reminded me of something. Thanks to your daffodils I’ve now remembered what it was. A couple of years ago there was a theft of a number of Turner paintings. Some of them were found and restored, but three are still unaccounted for. I believe I now know where one of them is.”

“A painting of Tintern Abbey?” I asked, having seen the name of the poem.

“Precisely. Mrs Maiden said she would be calling in later. I can ask her to take a telegram with her when she goes home.”

It was not long before Mrs Maiden arrived. Her first words as she entered the cottage were, “Mr Holmes, I have brought the solution to your mouse problem.” She thrust a half-grown tabby cat at him. “I trust you will give him a suitable name.”

We looked at each other and chorused, “Wordsworth!”


End file.
